


My Life and Me

by Elevateirrelavate



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: How the hell do i add tags on mobile, M/M, Other, Slow Build, Slow Burn, cope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28825986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elevateirrelavate/pseuds/Elevateirrelavate
Summary: Lil' Nazbol lives in an abandoned mansion he's upkept for years, and as time rolls on he'll understand how it works to be together as a 'collective' as the wackies make a sudden appearance at his house.
Relationships: Lil' Nazbol/Posadist
Kudos: 10





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time using Ao3, so I am wishing it is intelligible enough to read.

"Mistress Mary, how contrary. How does your garden grow?" Cling clang the bells chant, as a man looked up to the sky. He was singing at his very own reflection, garnering the attention of all but his own. He was alone, his house was everything patterned to someone elses desires. "With Silver bells and... What was it? Cockle shells?"

Nobody returned to agree. It was the beautiful sound of emptiness, loneliness and bliss he understood. He also knew very well he knew the rhyme, tapping his foot as if he knew it the day he was born. He was never born, and he will never die if nobody kills him. If he were born, he would be the devil's spawn, the true face of destruction and the proof that he was two-faced in a way. An incarnation of a bad dream, if you think about it enough.

He looked out the window onto the cleaned grass and blooming roses, on the other side were hydrangeas which were bright blue. It brought out his eyes, or his hair at the very least. In the future he could find a lovely lady to share this old house with. He ran with the idea of having a wife, but never really thought it through. He thought he was much too crazy to have any companion at all, much less a wife since there are so little ideologies who identify as female. That was no matter, he was important with his small garden, shovels and mansion sized home for a future collective.

A creaking noise came from the window, he ignored it. It gained traction, he ignored it. It kept going.. kept... going....

The sounds hurt his ears, his shoes scraping on the ground, the wind blowing in and the smell of the musty walls inhibited the way he could move. He sighed as if he knew, but he didn't know at all.

"Hickere, Dickere Dock.." His fingers formed 'legs' as he walked them across the concrete walls. "The mouse ran up the lunar clock... How long until the cat catches _you_?"

He tried to walk while ignoring the frightening sounds the window gave out, the lights, the colors. He covering his ears while walking but soon he lost thought of what he was doing and started to run. He ran to the doors and pushed on them, waiting on the noises to stop.. and they did.

He stopped right in his tracks, a black bench seemingly called to him and soothed his feelings. The view was much greater here in the courtyard, blue skies complimented the scenery; green bushes, red roses, Larkspurs, rock paving ingrained in the ground, and the leisurely bugs and animals that pass through. Bugs.. he thought he saw a Wheel Bug, maybe he could share that with someone if it had existed. He can't remember if that was right, mostly because a few moments before he ate the wrong part of a mulberry bush. He might as well have because he thought he saw an unfamiliar plant in the garden. He walked up to it, repulsed by the unorderly weed, but of course he wouldn't touch something like that with his bare hands. It had a thorny stem, mostly due to it being its way to combat intruders, but this time around that plant was the intruder. Nettle, it'll cause irritation on his skin which was one of the reasons he wouldn't touch any of it. He went to grab his gloves but-

' _Ring Ring_ ' ' _Ding Ding_ '

His phone went off, a cacophony of sounds came from the flat black box and destroyed some piece of mind he had. He took off his Ushanka, placing it on the bench, and then picked up the phone.

"Hello! It's me-! The Nazbol!!" He sang into the phone, you could almost hear a painful sigh coming from the other side. He listened intently to the voice augmenting through the phone.

"Hello Nazbol, Posadist isn't showing up for the meeting today. Beep Boop." Transhumanists radio-esque voice scathed through the phone, a bit of voice corruption might have something to do with it. It didn't bother Nazbol, as he hasn't hung up yet.

"What does that have to do with me?" He almost, just almost, straight up laughed to Transhumanists face-or the one he now has. "I told you! I am regular Extremist!"

"Posadist told me you might say that."

The static rose through the audio as he presumed the phone was being passed to someone else. Nazbol continued to look straight at the Nettle though, being that it was a priority to get it out.

"Yes... Okay.." There was a bit of other noise in the background, you could faintly hear someone thank Transhumanist and move closer to the phone. "Heello 'Lil Naazbol..?"

"Huh? Oh! Hello, Posadist!" Nazbol sneers in front of him, lifting up his face to open his mouth more. "I am pretty smart, knew you'd lie to my face!"

Posadists voice rumbled smoothly through the call, probably fixing the audio problem as he talked. Nazbol remarked that he had a weirdly accented voice, though he remembered that would be fairly hypocritical. Space, he thought it sounded like the void of space; it was weird. The conversation was about a nuclear weapon that Posadist thought he had in his basement, which he didn't, but Nazbol listened nonetheless. He finally grabbed his gloves with one hand and held the phone up with the other, pulling out the nettle in his garden from the roots. It felt gratifying, the garden was his symbolism for the dictatorship he could never truly have and will never ever have. Everything in that garden is his, and everything this house is, is a mitosis of himself. He could hear a van screech through the road, but he paid no attention due to the road being a way to get to rich farmland. Though he could hear the van stop, right in its tracks, which was suspicious but he tuned it out; most likely out of gas.

"RUN!!" He could hear Anarcho-Monarchist scream through the phone but also faintly in the background, as if he could look over and see him in his peripheral vision. He did just that, and he could see all five of them dashing into his yard. They seemed so proud of themselves for distracting Nazbol, but they weren't very quiet in the least.

"What are you doing on my yard?" The wind made it clear that they were still running, probably into the back of the house.

"We're moving in, loser!" Homonationalist caws into the phone, but he could hear him just fine without it. He hangs up, head in his hands, but he knew he couldn't stay like that for long so he jumps up to greet them.


	2. Desire, Acceptance and a Dirty Bunker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nazbol gives the gang rooms, but one of them is unsatisfied.

Considering the whole situation, he guesses that maybe more people would theoretically help him in the long run. They are no wife, but they could make a mighty fine commune. 

Walking to the widely pushed open doors, and he found everyone just standing there. Transhumanist is handling looking over Anprim so he doesn't destroy the corridor, Posadist is counting something in a bag, Homonationalist and Anarcho-Monarchist are fighting over something and Anarcho-Primitivist wants to go outside, apparently. Each of them has their own amazing qualities, but none more distinguished than being a large group of bubbling idiots. When Nazbol eventually walks in, everyone stands mostly still as he smiles at them.

"Why are you looking so smug?" Anarcho-Monarchist said, swinging his sword near Lil' Nazbol. He looked back at him. His cuspids are brightly showing in contrast to his purple hue. His steps click-clacked right in front of Anarcho-Monarchist as he bent over to a bow.. menacingly looking up at him.

"Smug wouldn't be the word.. How about... Contempt?" He sneered. "Do you not know Plutchik?"

"I know Plutchik."

"Then shut the hell up." He smiles radiantly, bouncing up and down and acting as strangely as usually; minus the bit of disappointment in his voice.

Posadist leads the rest of the group to some rooms, as Nazbol gave them the numbers of unused bedrooms. Even though Nazbol had let these people in, he still felt like he was missing something. In the very back of his head he could feel the destructive thoughts racing throughout but only one thing they all had in common:

'They are going to leave me.' 

\---

'Bzzt-'

Nazbol stirred late at night, looking out the window to the scenic beauty. The flowers he grew with his own hands glowed up through the fireflies' gracious lights. He thought he could get used to the view, but he never has. He always thought of a new flower to put in, but he never had the motivation to go out and get the bulbs. He glanced over at the clock, 1:46am was way too early to be up but he did. Tiptoeing around his house to not wake anyone up, though it seemed he wasn't the only one awake-being that there was another pair of sounds coming from ahead. The light came from the kitchen, saturated orangish-yellow but still understandably familiar.

"Posadist, is that you?" He called out to the shallow figure.

"Ohhh, hi.." Posadist answered.

"Why are you up this late?"

"I'm looking for a place to sleep.. A bunker."

"A bunker? The only thing I have close enough to that is a hatch in the basement."

Posadist nodded xir head, agreeing. They make it down the hallway, the concrete walls feeling less caved in this time around. Nazbol was tired, but they reached the destination right next to the hatch as he spoke..

"See how they run, see how they run.. They all ran up to the farmer's wife.. who cut off their tails with a carving knife.."

Posadist just stared at Nazbol, though I'm sure the only reason xe was staring was because xe thought he was crazy. Nazbol looked back, rather embarrassed that he'd just blurted that out in the middle of the night in the darkest part of the house. He hadn't talked to anyone in years after the Extreme Authoritarians left him, besides the door deliveries he got ever so often but those weren't really 'interactions'.

"What the hell was that, hah...?" Posadist asked, likely out of nervousness but also out of fear.

"I got nervous, that was all. I haven't went down here in years."

The night grew colder in the East hall, both of them could feel it but disregarded it as they opened the hatch to the basements underground area. They weren't sure what it was, but they both stepped down the well-kept ladder to the cellar. It smelt as old as Max Stirner's _'Art and Religion'_ that Nazbol burned a while back, which is now used as supplement for fire wood. A candle laid at the side of a shelf as they got in, and Nazbol used a lighter he had to start it up. The walls looked as if they haven't been touched since he moved in, and all the books were still lined in alphabetical order. Nazbol noted that the names of the books were ripped off and seemed to be painted black in order to hide the original identity of the contents.

"Maybe they are someone's diary.." Posadist's fuzzy voiced picked up, xir tone singing with sarcasm.

"Actually, you might not be wrong. It is in a suspicious spot, and-" 

Nazbol's face sunk as he picked up one of the books. He felt the covers as if they were in his hands merely yesterday. It's foolish to think that a book would create emotions in a person, but nonetheless the anger grew into his throat. He didn't want to say anything about the contents.

"What's wrong?"

"Four other tenants used to live here, I wouldn't suggest looking through these books."

"Whhhyyy? I didn't think you'd be sooo protective over boooks." Posadist joked, more lightly this time.

"There's nothing of interest, especially for you."

Xe understood that xe shouldn't touch the books, and promised Nazbol that xe wouldn't read them. Xe knew that they had nothing on the whereabouts of nuclear weapons or anything about solar flares, so xe couldn't care less. Nazbol waved good bye to Posadist as he went back to his room, going from the East hall to the West hall to go back to bed.

Though Posadist couldn't sleep.

\---

Posadist poked through the shelves, the insignificant books and items in the cellar. Cellars always have secrets, one of the reasons xe wanted to know about a 'bunker' was because xe wanted something to do or something to see. Here was the place where xe could find out whatever xe wanted about anyone or anything who used to live here and that meant Nazbol as well.

"It's not hard to use blackmail as a way to get people into groups." Xe told xemself, hands full of items that didn't belong to xem.

Xe looked at the items, they were clearly colour coded in Navy or Gold which seemed conspicuous and obvious. A lot of them were chapbooks or poetry that Posadist never heard of, some of them were in French and one of them had the phrase: 'un conte de la Mère Oye' scribbled on it. Nothing extremely important besides the scribbled out rhyme that went: 'The big ship sails on the ally-ally-oh' and another that went: 'Here we go around the Mulberry bush.' Neither poems were explicably similar, but there must've been a reason they were crossed out and almost fully ripped out of the book. Posadist decided that the poetry meant nothing to the information gathering and looked elsewhere. There was a picture frame on the desk to the side of the room, there were two people on it. One of the people on it was smiling and was wearing a Ushanka.

'That one is the communist.' Xe thought.

The other person looked like he was about to kill the photographer, wearing a uniform and holding something in his hand. It looked like a gun, but it didn't look authentic in the photo at least. Posadist took apart the frame and turned the photo over, it had some writing on it that seemed to be from multiple people. A lot of the hand-writing was in Russian, one of them even having an anarchist symbol next to it. 'These are just the Extremists, probably just normal stuff.'

Xe traced some writing onto a notebook to memorize who was who, but xe assumes all of this is going to get interesting soon.

'Mejorate Pronto -P'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the Nursery Rhymes, It's an important thing for later on in the story but I assure that no same poem will be repeated twice.  
> Authleft and Authright get mentioned near the end of course and will become prevalent/show up soon. (As well as me writing characters I don't like to write (/hj))
> 
> I also know very little Spanish, so correct me if something is wrong.


	3. Deep Blue, September and the Bush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nazbol gets along with the rest of the wackies. Well... Some of the wackies..... Do not be fooled no hilarity ensues.

It seems as if Posadist had actually slept that night, as xe passed out onto the floor no problem. Twitching awake, xe caught the hatch opening almost too slowly to see.

"You can come in, Transhumanist."

"Bzzrt- Okay"

Their footsteps were thundering, and xe was unsure they'd be able to make it down the ladder without falli-

(CLANG!)

The robot fell right into the ground, unluckily scrapping their metal frame. They get up, brushing themselves off with their clunky iron hands and making their way over to Posadist. Xe tried not to laugh at all, and to keep xir face straight-laced but unbeknownst to Transhumanist, xe was cracking up about it in xirs head.

"I assume you want to know about any information." Posadist said, gathering the chapbooks and the frame from last night. Standing in front of the books Nazbol told xem not to read.

"Yes."

"There'ss just some old chapbooks, and a fraame with some extremist's handwriiting. If you could analyze the handwriting, that'd be great."

"I'm sure I could do that." 

Posadist and Transhumanist make it up the ladder, reaching to dear daylight. It had been dark down in the cellar after the candle went out, but it was no secret that they emit a glow and if they tried hard enough then they could probably function like a glowstick. Posadist wonders if xe is actually made up Tritium or Radium, it would be very cool and would make sense for the glow emissions but didn't know if the Radioluminescence would have a half life of however long xe has lived. Also some of the other ideologies also emit that same glow so, maybe not Radium but Tritium didn't have as long of a life span-

"You're late." Anarcho-Monarchist frowned, lifted his fork as to wave at them, as Homonationalist mocks Anmon's grandiose ego personality in the background. Posadist and Transhumanist look at each other and then back at the table.

"What for?" Transhumanist asked.

"Nazbol made breakfast for some reason." Homonationalist rolled his eyes, putting the piece of French Toast in his mouth.

"Where is he?"

"Outside, picking berries for Anarcho-Primitivist."

Transhumanist stayed behind with Anarcho-Monarchist and Homonationalist, talking with them about the picture frame; though ignored the chapbook for good reason. Posadist walked to the back door, not really knowing where either Anprim or Nazbol were exactly. Making xir way out to the back, xe could see Nazbol and Anprim near the bushes, he and Anprim were sitting on the ground while he sorted out the berries from the basket. Nazbol put the berries on a leaf on the ground so Anprim wouldn't complain. Posadist just noticed that Nazbol wasn't wearing his Ushanka, but a straw hat to protect himself from the sun. Xe didn't really think that other ideologies changed their staple but it's not like xe had anything beside being somewhat see-through and having antennae. Posadist walked towards them as Nazbol waved at xem to come over. 'No big deal, but why is everyone gravitating towards Lil' Nazbol like that?'

"Hey Longicorn, come sit with us!" He smiled.

"Don't call me that."

"Oh, okay.."

Anarcho-Primitivist stared at the two of them, now feeling kind of misplaced there being that they were starting to bicker.

"Did you think I liked being made fun of for my antennae?"

"Not at all, that was not my intention!" Nazbol fidgeted with his hands, grinning rather apologetically. Looking right up at Posadist, who had not sat down.

"Well fuck off, please."

Nazbol raised his hand in habit, and his body quavered in rhythmic patterns; it hurt. It must be his anxiety acting up again.

"This, this is my house.."

"Can Grug go?" Anarcho-Primitivist asked lightly, trying to get out of the whole situation.

Nazbol nodded at him. He was now left alone with Posadist who was still angry as hell, but he just rolled his eyes and walked away.

He was now alone, quite like before but it wouldn't be long until he would talk to another again. The some of the fruits and flowers were good enough to eat, but they had doppelgangers that weren't just in case something bad happens. 'We are both communist, so we must have something in common..'

He walked back to his room, nothing really to talk about besides the big hole in the wall he refused to fill after ten years of telling himself he would. He sat there, and knew that he was trying his very best to be nice to everyone but maybe just apologizing for his mistake would be the best route. 'Xe didn't have to make a big deal of it, it's not like I continued to call xem that.'

The clock tik-tokked as an hour or two passed by, Nazbol couldn't tell as he layed there motionless on the bed staring up at the ceiling. Memories rushed through him like a river on a windy day, almost making him punch through that same hole in the wall. They didn't like him, but what was he to do about it? He couldn't change how he was, but nor could they and that's what made his blood boil. Time continued to pass, people dragged their feet across the hallway a few times his way but nobody talked to him. He felt like everything was nonsense and he would have to do everything by himself. Everything was just him, and him alone forever.

_(Creeaaak..)_

"Hey, Lil' Nazbol?"

He didn't answer back because he wasn't ready to apologize or talk to Posadist right now. He laid to the side of his bed facing away from the door, with the fantastic view of the window. If he could just focus on that, he would be set for the rest of today.

"Look, hah.. I'm sorry I got angry at you-"

No reply.

"I was just defensive, it's not everyday they are content you know."

"Then work for it, that's what collectives do." He finally responded. Posadist almost glared back, noticing that xe wasn't going to have the upperhand here.

"Just listen. Me and Trotskyist never had the best of-"

"Don't throw me into your pity party, I don't give a shit. You apologized, I'll see you in the morning."

"I-"

"There's leftovers, just please go."

He laid there until all feeling in his arms went away and he felt he was no longer in the place he was in the first place.. a place he thought was better than the real life he lived in. In a garden somewhere with a mulberry bush next to that deep blue river that passed right next to it. Two people, but they weren't the usual. No uniforms, no hats, who were they? Who were they?

'Hello?' He tried to speak out, but he didn't hear anything.

'Are you me?' 

Nazbol and himself met head to head, it was a dream. Nazbol tried to look beside the fuzzy clone to the other person but the other moved to the side. 

'Who's that?'

He sunk through the floor, drowning in the ground until the ground turned into water. He panicked flailing his arms trying to swim up but there was no end. No end, but where did the ground go? 

-

He woke up to the sound of birds, that is if birds were a highly annoying monarch coming to check on him for ego reasoning.

"Nazboool Naaazbool!"

Nazbol opened his eyes to see Anarcho-Monarchism poking at his face, he shoos it away.

"Oh, yeah Nazbol you've been out for three days but nevermind that-"

"WHAT?!"

"Yeah, but there's something else." He said gripping onto his sword looking to the door, his eyes gazed dodgingly.

"Go ahead.."

"I think Posadist and Transhumanist have been scanning a lot of your stuff. I don't know where it comes from but if I'm allowed to see then I should, right?"

"No? Nobody's allowed to go through my shit as long as I live."

"Tough luck buddy, at least you know now I guess."

"'Tough luck', my ass. When I get to them you'll be lucky if I ever see one of your faces again." He growled under his breath, tossing the covers over, and grabbing something from his nightstand. Stalking toward the door in grimace.

\--

"Did you at least get the chapbook translated?" Posadist asked, holding up a couple books up to Transhumanist, pacing back and forth in his room to block out the sound of the scanning.

"Are you going to tell the others about this? Beep."

"Hm.. No... There's no need?"

"Alright, well all these books are in French. I could read you a play-by-play or I can send it to the-" Transhumanist belches, "the Windows 98.. machine..."

"Ahhh no, stop being picky about computers just because they aren't upgraded that much. Do you think you could judge human families just because they're old?"

"No, do you want me to send it?"

"Yes please."

Xe walked off to the computer downstairs, turning on the computer and waiting for it to load.. Xe opened the MSN messenger app and waited for that to boot up too. Everything was being sent at snails pace, like it wasn't working at all. I think it had been an hour and Posadist had barely managed to get half the chapbook uploaded to xir computer via MSN and if that's all xe was going to get-then xe couldn't complain. Why did Nazbol even have this old thing still around?

'Did you check the computer files? There might be something in there..'

"I don't need to check everything, I'm not that fiesty or brave." Xe told himself, fake typing on the block-like keys as xe waited. Xe heard loud, almost infuriated footsteps out in the hallway going towards the stairs to the basement. 'I'm screwed, who is it and why are they coming down here.. who told him..?'

In the corner of xir eye, Nazbol was coming down fast but xe couldn't shut down the program or xe'd lose everything but it's that or leaving alive. Transhumanist was still transferring and it might hurt them to shut it down than to just leave it for Nazbol to see. Xe could feel Nazbol's grip on xir arm, it was a little too tight for xir liking but xe did just look through a bunch of stuff he didn't want xem to look through.

"Leave it." He said almost dragging Posadist out of the chair. "Leave. It."

"Look, I'm sorry we can sort this out someway just let me go-"

"Sans déc." He breathed out wrathfully, it wasn't hard to guess that was vulgar. He let go of Posadist's arm.

"So, what now? You're going to kick us out, right?"

They just sat there for a half-an-hour, while Posadist waited for an answer. Nazbol was calming down and going over the situation step-by-step in his head..

"I am so tired right now, I don't even know so just come with me for a second." He wiped the blood from his nose and pulled one of the books on the shelf that opened to weird staircase to the side.

"This is scary as shit, do you hide people down here?" Posadist tried to make a joke, the staircase was well-kept and seemed as though it'd be in that one book where the girl goes down the tower to see a wizard or some shit. Nothing noticeably alarming about it.

"I'm bringing you down to my office, it's off the building so nobody looks through it."

Posadist zoned out like xe did with Trotskyist, xe didn't know what was happening anymore and therefore xe should stay out of the way (in xir head) so xe didn't have to deal with it. Nazbol was so conflicting, xe didn't know if he was still angry and bringing xem down here was a red-flag to xem but just as xe did with Trotskyist, xe didn't question it. Halfway down the stairs he sat down, for no reason and Posadist sat down with him.

"It's not going to mean anything, but I'm sorry for getting mad at you-and possibly hurting you.. that was not my intention."

"It's fine. Why are we going down here?"

"It isn't fine, it really isn't-", he cuts himself off by standing up, "ah yeah.. We're going down here because you wanted something from me."

"Huh?" Posadist played dumb, even though xe knew that he knew.

"You wanted to know stuff about me, there's no use in looking in the chapbooks. You want me to overshare, I'll over-fucking-share."

"Uh- what-" Nazbol looks Posadist right in the eyes, as he opens the door to the underground office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice some things are worrying/repeated from some of the characters and those WILL go away as I carry on the chapters and I won't let neither of them really forget what they did so-  
> Yeah... I don't think this is generally a ship fic yet at all, actually I'd say it's the opposite for the time being.


End file.
